


Be a Good Neighbor

by Goodneighbor_Neighbor (Fan_by_Proxy)



Series: Commonwealth Kinks [2019 Prompt List] [30]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Lactation, Penis In Vagina Sex, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:15:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27096385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fan_by_Proxy/pseuds/Goodneighbor_Neighbor
Summary: What if Sanctuary had become a sanctuary, with a living, breathing community for the Sole Survivor to fall into after leaving Vault 111? Even a community of mostly ghouls would be better than one lone traumatized Handy unit and a handful of Radroaches and Bloatflies. Now, instead of floundering from event to event in a blind stumble while searching for Shaun, the Sole Survivor can begin living in the post-atomic age with some idea of what the Commonwealth has become.[AU-Canon divergence with all your favs showing up in different places and different ways, and how circumstances change--and don't change--people]
Relationships: John Hancock/Female Sole Survivor
Series: Commonwealth Kinks [2019 Prompt List] [30]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1727050
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	1. The Day the Bombs Fell, and Some Days After

The day the bombs dropped was like every other day, up until it wasn’t. Johnny McDonough rolled off his brother’s couch, splashed some water from the kitchen sink on his face, and took a seat by the window to watch the world and motor through three or four smokes to wake up. While the state had decided he was fit to rejoin society, society wasn’t exactly in agreement. There were only a couple of cool cats in Sanctuary that didn’t shoot him the screw-eye for his prison pallor, and only one of _them_ was pretty much guaranteed not to land him in the clink again--that was Missus Sweetheart-Next-Door. The gal was some kind of French, dark-haired and shaped like a real good hour; she’d married a big ol’ soldier boy and started a sentence in suburbia not too long after popping out a kid that was always crying. The neighborhood gave her the screw-eye too, on account of being foreign; it was a raw deal as far as he was concerned, but she never seemed to let on how much (if anything) it bothered her. John had to admire that, because he couldn’t help but let the temper slip every now and then.

When the alarms went off, it didn’t really rattle John, because they were always testing the red alert system…but then the roaring started. Vertibirds crisscrossed over the house low enough to make the tchotchkis his brother’s squeeze had put up everywhere rattle, and people went running up and down the sidewalks. The shrill noise of the sirens fought with a recorded message about getting to shelter, half the words lost under the wail. He got up and opened the front door, and stood on the stoop, stunned by the panic. He saw Missus Sweetie-Next-Door run by with her little bundle of screams clutched tight to her chest, directed by her big lunk of a husband. She stumbled, held upright by those big paws, and in that moment she looked right at him. John thought he would never be able to forget the look on her face; the look of real, wanton terror. The kind that took all the color out of a body and made you breathe through a gaping wound of a mouth, no matter how pretty you were at any other time.

Then she was gone. John stood there, numbed by shock; Charlie and his squeeze (the secretary who signed into hotels with him as his fake missus) were at work, and John himself hadn’t a cent to give Vault-Tec to get a place inside. There was nowhere for him to go and nothing he could do anyway--the thing that was never supposed to happen to _them_ , to America…it was happening, and the only thing anybody really could do in the face of it was tuck their head between their knees and kiss their brown eye goodbye. He couldn’t even think of the last words he and Charlie said to each other; it was probably something real dumb and mundane like ‘did you drink the last of the coffee’ or something unimportant like that.

When the bombs landed, he _saw_ the cloud, felt the fire on his back as he turned to run inside and throw himself on the floor. The windows and the tchotchkis and everything that was normal broke. It was hours before John realized he was badly hurt; that he was _in pain_. Shock had done a good job keeping it blocked back, until it didn’t and suddenly every nerve was screaming. He kicked the lock off Charlie’s liquor cabinet and did his best to polish off the collection, hoping for the numb to set back in.

Chaos couldn’t even _begin_ to describe the days that came after; people dropped in the middle of sentences or they started choking each other for cans of beans and stupid things…like dental floss. And John? John was sick--bad sick--and things fell off, and he thought he was dying a bad death; the final punishment for _maybe_ living a little too fast and easy. There were a few nights he even thought he really was dead, and in Hell, and the devil had taken the form of that prissy tin-can Missus Sweetness-next-door and her man had ordered to help with the screamer. He meant to ration the booze after that first night but it wasn’t long before it was all gone and all he could do was alternate between dry-heaving and whimpering in a ball on the floor. The nuke must’ve taken out most of the neighborhood, because no one kicked in the door to loot and shoot during those first days. Even as he lost fingernails and part of his little finger, John wondered if he could still call himself a lucky guy for that.

After he managed to peel himself off the floor, he started wandering. Looking for food, for booze, for chems, even for other people--just to make sure he wasn’t the last man standing-ish. It was risky though; anxious people took potshots, and thieves aimed to kill. There were more than a few times John got winged on his way to cover. But eventually he found a few others who’d been hit like he had--other Ghouls--and even found a few places where people had pulled together to make something like a neighborhood instead of just scrapping to the death. Unfortunately, most of those places didn’t last long, and most of the ones that DID last didn’t want guys without noses hanging around for too long, if at all. The old ballpark became the biggest of those snot-nosed neighborhoods, which was equal parts hilarious and heartbreaking…he’d spent a lot of good times there.

John thought about going farther afield, maybe heading for the coast or something--east or west, he’d flip a coin and start walking; he even started trying to build a little traveling stash to do it. But when Vault-dwellers started creeping out of their hidey-holes, in their unmistakable blue-and-yellows, a thought too crazy to ignore had him putting that plan on hold and instead started the trek back to Sanctuary.

It had come to him during a particularly lonely high; maybe if the vault up the hill opened up, Missus Sugar-and-nice-next-door might poke her pretty little head out. He’d kill for another familiar face, no matter what shape it was in. It was a stupid thought, but sometimes those were the best ones to follow even after sobering up a little. When he got there, the place was a graveyard populated by cockroaches and a floating nervous wreck who kept trying to polish rust. If the idea hadn’t been so insistent, harassing him through more than one good high (and a few bad ones), John would’ve gone back to wandering and avoiding getting shot. Maybe even gotten enough of his shit together to flip that coin and go. But the damn idea stuck to him like tar: that the vault up the hill would open up, and Missus Next-Door would pop out--or some great granddaughter who had the same kinda spark and the same great legs. There were nights where he wasn’t _that_ picky about which he’d rather, in all honesty. Fantasies were a big part of surviving the day, after all.

One day, while trying to knock back roots and get some planting done--he might not get as hungry as he used to, but he still got hungry damn it--John heard a ruckus on the bridge. The hedge that had ringed the neighborhood was wildly overgrown and patchy all at once; the upside was he could tuck into one of the patchier places and keep an eye out, and avoid most troubles with cover. He couldn’t make out much beyond some angry voices, what _sounded_ like a little bundle of familiar screams, before the woods lit up like a stage and the smell of ozone choked him out. Whatever had happened was well out of his pay-grade, so to speak…but curiosity was another one of his vices, so after extricating himself from the hedgerow, he hiked up the hill to nose around.

The elevator pad for the vault looked as ominous as ever, but the creeping vines that had started threatening it were all torn up and throwing off a ferocious stink. “ _Well_ …” John mumbled to himself--he tended to talk to himself just to hear something besides nothing--and debated trying the lift to go down. He couldn’t make himself do it though…going down in a hole where he didn’t have a single guarantee of safety was _definitely_ not on the agenda. Instead, John made his way back to Sanctuary, back to the digging and the planting and hanging around, at least for a little while longer.

A common thing for the Commonwealth was how little communities just kind of…kept happening. Somebody would find a space, and if they could defend it and get some food going, people would start coming--sometimes without even building a damn thing. And the more people that came, the better chance of trade starting to happen. And when _that_ happened, well…either people pulled together to defend their irradiated little corners, or they didn’t. Sanctuary being so far out of the way, and Ghoul-friendly to boot, probably should’ve killed it before it began. But John, who hadn’t meant to start anything at all, began to make plans. That the Slog came into existence helped a lot; it set up a decent template to follow for how a Ghoul-run settlement could go about getting recognized around the Commonwealth. Word-of-mouth helped a lot; so did John’s unflagging charisma. Apparently not even a big change like going Ghoul could knock that out of him. Eventually, Sanctuary became…well, a sanctuary. Recognized, occasionally attacked and ferociously defended by the regular residents.

John himself netted a title--mostly by accident-- “Mr. Mayor”. Charlie had been the politician in the family, but it was _John_ \--free-loving, chem-inhaling, hard-drinking, black sheep of the family John--who’d come out on top in Sanctuary. Sometimes, when the high was going, he wondered if his folks had any idea what he was up to and what they’d have to say about it. The whole thing struck him funny most of the time, but he went with it. After all, ‘mayor’ wasn’t the _worst_ thing he’d ever been called.

Then, after some sixty or so years after the disturbance at the top of the hill, Vault 111 _finally_ opened…


	2. The First Day of the Rest of Her Life

There was no missing the scream from the top of the hill; it echoed and dragged and the sound was awful enough to make your heart stop. John was on his feet at the sound, shoving the frankly crappy poker hand into his pocket. “Guard your cards boys, I’ll be back when that’s sorted.” he said before banging out the door of the Workshop. The Neighborhood Watch was grouping up near the corn that lined the path that lead up the hill.

“Ain’t seen nobody yet, Mr. Mayor, but we can hear her.” Mugsy said. He was a slow-thinking kid who’d gotten tired of getting his teeth kicked in around Diamond City and wandered to the empty north country looking for a place to be in peace. Sometimes he thought it was funny that the most peaceful place was with a bunch of ghouls and farmers, especially when the traders passing through muttered on their breath about how dangerous it could be…but he could count on one hand the number of ghouls who’d gone feral while he’d been there (it might take him a few moments longer, but he _could_ ), and Mr. Mayor _actually_ worked shoulder-to-shoulder with everybody, instead of saying he believed in that stuff without doing it.

“Go talk to Max and tell him to pause the turret pointed that way…if somebody’s in trouble, we don’t want them getting shot accidentally.” John said, slowly so Mugsy could follow.

“Right, Mr. Mayor.” Mugsy replied, taking off.

“Think it’s another Raider trick?” someone behind him asked.

John opened his mouth to answer, but the next scream got his hackles raised high…no mean feat considering he didn’t exactly know what a hackle was _and_ he didn’t have a hair on his body to raise. It was closer, shrill, a womanly scream full of terror and maybe something like rage.

“ _SHAUN!”_

“...if it is, it’s a new one.” John replied slowly. “Alright everybody, just hang back. If they’re coming down the hill, they’ve gotta take the bridge…let’s just keep it calm, see if that’s somebody who needs our help.” he said sharply before taking off down the dirt path, in spite of the jelly that was currently making up his knees.

The stink of the Vault was trapped in her hair and her clothes, making Yvette wretch between screams. She didn’t know why she was screaming for Shaun--he was a _baby_ , he couldn’t answer! But she couldn’t _stop_ screaming…maybe she would never stop screaming. The world had been turned into a horror show--there were bones sticking up out of the leaves and empty clothes that had had people in them when last she saw them, and now were decaying markers of where they’d stood. “ _SHAUN!_ ”

Yvette managed to make it to the little creek that used to babble so sweetly behind their little development, and was surprised to find a bridge still crossing it. Beyond it was their old home, and there were thin streams of smoke rising above some of the roofs that still stood; leafy things bloomed along the dirt road that had acted as a cut-thru to get to the Vault. Everything was destroyed but those very basic signs of life were _almost_ enough to dampen the urge to scream. Her eyes were still too weak to pick out individual details very well; she could make out a figure at the end of the bridge, but not much beyond that until they were close enough to reach out and touch.

And then she screamed again.

John flinched back from the scream; poor Missus Next-Door was squinting something fierce, and obviously hadn’t picked up on his change of state until they were practically close enough to kiss. “Hey, hey! It’s me! It’s alright, it’s alright, it’s just me, it’s--” he hesitated for a moment. Nobody in Sanctuary really knew his name; a few of the gals knew he was a Johnny, but not past that. He lowered his voice. “It’s Johnny McDonough.” John said, hoping it didn’t carry.

Yvette staggered back from the talking corpse, flailing a hand back until she felt a branch. It was better than having absolutely nothing to defend herself with, so she picked it up and brandished it wildly.

John held his hands out wider. “You know me--my brother and his squeeze lived next door to you and your husband!” he said quickly.

Yvette squinted at the figure, swinging the branch again. More figures were moving behind him; a looming army!

John saw her start, looking past him. He looked back; the Watch was ready to fire. He’d have to get her calm and defuse this shit in a hurry. “You did laundry on Wednesdays, and hung your stuff on the line next to the fence between our houses--your husband cut the yard with one of those push-mowers instead of letting Todd Johnson’s kid do it for pay!” he fumbled with his memory, hoping to land on something that’d at least get her to put the branch down.

The thing was babbling at her about things there was no way he could know; but things he could guess from old holotapes and records, if those things were still around. Yvette was not convinced in the slightest.

“I was camping on my brother’s couch--on Charlie’s couch, after I got outta prison--you were the only one to do the welcome wagon thing! You brought these little flaky bread things, they were shaped like the moon, and some pear jam that you said you’d made yourself--I believed you. It was some of the best stuff I ever tasted in my life!” John said quickly. He saw the branch waver, saw it dip just a little.

Yvette frowned, squinting so hard it made her head hurt. Croissants and pear jam were her part of the ‘welcome wagon’ duties; a couple of the other wives had turned up their noses and made snide remarks, but they were precious recipes and she had had the silly little thought that it was remarkable to store-bought apple pies and too-much-sugar cookies. _If_ this frightening blur really was the man from next door, well…it was an incredible way to be proven right. “… _Jean_? Really, _Jean_?” she said slowly, daring a cautious couple of steps closer, wishing desperately for her eyes to clear enough to make out something more than a monstrous shape.

John nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s me. It’s Johnny, from next door. It’s really me, I promise.”

Yvette didn’t let go of the branch. “What…what has happened to you?” She could make out that his nose was gone, and his skin was ruddy and possibly scarred; it did not match the flashy charming man who’d looked so startled to be welcomed to the neighborhood.

“Radiation, Missus. Some folks, it doesn’t kill, it changes. But I’m me, I’m Johnny. You know me…it’s ok. Put the branch down, and lemme help you.” John said slowly. He couldn’t hold the question against her; she was probably the last person up and walking who knew what he looked like _before_. And she was terrified, and apparently half-blind, judging from how hard she was squinting. The furrow between her brows was deep for it. “It’s a lot to take in, I get it…but it’s ok. It’ll be _okay_.” he repeated. Whether that would turn out to be a lie, he didn’t know; it wasn’t that he was really averse to lying, he just…well he didn’t want to make what was clearly a bad situation worse on purpose.

Yvette shook her head, dropping the branch as tears welled up and made her vision even worse. “ _Martin_ is dead, and my baby is stolen!” she protested. “Nothing can be ok until I find _Shaun!_ ”

“Look, you just got up here--let me get you some food, and some water, start…start breaking you in to how things go now.” John said patiently. He relaxed his pose, and reached a cautious hand out.

Her lower lip trembled, and she took a breath. Then Yvette covered her face with both hands, choking on sobs.

John braved moving closer, and reached out to touch her elbow lightly. “C’mon, Missus. One foot in front of the other, I won’t let you trip.” he said gently. The Vault suit was unpleasantly slick to the touch, and he was close enough to smell sweat and rot on it. At least he hoped it was just on the suit; it’d be a helluva thing to wake up only to go straight to dying.

Yvette bawled, letting herself be led blindly back to what used to be Sanctuary by what was left of John McDonough.

John took her up the hill, fending off curiosity with a few impatient waves of his hand. “Later, later! Give the gal a damn break, she just got here--move outta the way, excitement’s over, get back to whatever you were doing!” He didn’t want to drag the distraught Missus through the street, but she wasn’t walking too good. “C’mon Missus, left and right, almost to my place--don’t worry, just trust ol’ Johnny.”

Yvette stumbled with him, still choking on tears and the stink of the Vault and the new world. Even when the tears cleared for a moment, she still couldn’t see that well in front of her; even if the gravelly, ghoulish figure wasn’t who he said he was, she still felt relatively fortunate that someone was trying to help.

John took her into the little bungalow he’d gotten mostly fixed up and straight back to the bedroom--not just out of habit, but because it was the quietest and probably best put-together spot he had a right to. John sat her down on the bed, then made himself pull his hands back. Once she got a real good close look at him, she _definitely_ wouldn’t want him to touch on her, even through clothes. “Just sit here, Missus. You sit right here, catch your breath…I’ll go hunt something to wear for you that isn’t…that. Vault suits, they’re kinda like targets these days. It’ll be safer if you look like everyone else, ok?” he said gently.

“ _Yvette_. I am _Yvette_ , remember?” she said weakly, dragging her nose along the sleeve. It meant another awful whiff of the Vault, but she could not _stand_ the slimy snot collecting above her lip.

John swallowed. _Christ_ , she sounded so broken and helpless. It was hitting him in a bad way. “Ok, ok Yvette. Just didn’t want to overstep, you being a married lady and all.” he said. “Old habits, and all.”

“ _Je suis veuf…je suis veuf avec un fil disparu!”_ Yvette wailed, then covered her face with her hands again for another wave of sobs. She couldn’t stop crying. She wondered if she would ever _stop_ crying.

John didn’t understand a goddamn word of what she just said, but the general vibe was clear. He straightened up. “Just sit tight. I can look after you here…just sit tight.” John said before backing out of the room, trying to ease the door closed quietly. Of course it screamed, and like every morning he had a bad hangover, he cursed himself for not doing shit about the hinges. “Moron.” he muttered to himself before leaving the house at a quick step to try and hit up Daisy for something lady-sized.

“Put it on my tab, then.” John said pleadingly. “And give yourself whatever tip you want to take it over there. C’mon Daisy, don’t be cruel. Doesn’t suit a gorgeous gal like you.”

Daisy raised a brow. “Laying it on, _awfully_ thick, Mr. Mayor.” she said drily. “I might do it, if _you_ spill. What’s the deal with that one; you don’t usually melt for Vaulters.”

John rubbed the back of his neck. “Look…I knew her. Back in the old days. The _old_ days, Daisy.”

She frowned. “Bullshit. That’d make her at least as old as we are, and she sure as shit _ain’t_ like us.”

John shrugged. “Dunno what to tell you Daisy--but I _know_ her. I know that face, I know that voice, I know that woman. Maybe after she’s calmed down some, she can fill us in on the gaps.”

Daisy pursed what was left of her lips, squinting hard at the other ghoul. “You really vouching for this girlie?”

“Yeah. Yeah I am.” John replied flatly.

Daisy sighed. “ _Fine_. But why do I gotta be the delivery girl?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Because maybe you’ll have better luck getting her to stop crying? I’m not saying she doesn’t have reasons, I just…I ain’t never been good with a crying gal, Daisy. I’ll admit it.”

She snorted, rolling her eyes. “What a leader…you’re lucky I almost kinda like you, Johnny.”

“I really am.” he replied with a grin.

Daisy shook her head and bundled up the green dress and its slip, and the heavy work boots. “Hope she’s a size 8, because that’s what we got for boots.” she said. “Watch the counter and _don’t_ go giving my stock away.”

“Yes ma’am.” John replied with a cheeky salute.

Daisy rolled her eyes again and shuffled out from behind the counter. Truth-be-told, curiosity had more to do with her relenting than the thick charm John had laid down. At this point in her life, she was pretty damn immune to guys like that…not that it wasn’t entertaining, but she was well past getting swept up by a smooth-talking fella. Daisy made her way down the road to John’s place, and let herself in.

The Vaulter had gasped and stared and then made it worse by trying _not_ to stare, and Daisy was regretting doing this favor, curiosity be damned. “Better get it all out now, hon, because there are a lot of faces like mine around, and none of us like being gawked at.”

“I…I’m sorry.” Yvette looked down at the clothes in her lap, embarrassed. She still couldn’t see tremendously well, but it seemed like the woman had the same ruddy scarred skin and lost nose as _Jean_ …if that was truly that common, she would have to do a better, faster job of adapting.

Daisy made a spectacle noise in her throat. “Well, get dressed. Those blue suits are like a beacon to raiders; you’ll find yourself beat, robbed, and worse in a heartbeat wearing that.”

Yvette swallowed thickly. Just what the hell kind of world had she stumbled into? “I…do you perhaps have bandages? Or some spare cloth?”

“Why? Hurt yourself getting up here?”

Yvette looked up and took a deep breath, wiping her nose again. She _had_ to adapt! “I am leaking still…my son is an infant, and I was feeding him myself.” she explained.

Daisy flinched--not visibly, but sharply on the inside. “Oh hon--let me see what I can find. You just um…hang on.” She backed away.

Yvette nodded, and sat to wait. The walls were a patchy mishmash of paper and paint and boards, the furniture equally as cobbled together. There were candles on nearly every table, and the air was stale with cigarette smoke. A radio hummed quietly in the corner, sounding vaguely familiar, although it was just low enough to make her unsure.

“Hon? I’ve got a roll of bandages, and a little bit of cotton. It’s the best I can do for you.” Daisy said when she came back, goods in hand. “Things are pretty good but uh…some things are pretty hard to come by.”

Yvette nodded. “Thank you so very much.” she said softly.

“Can I ask a couple of questions, hon? Promise I’ll turn my back and not sneak peeks. Lot more than you can expect from Mr. Mayor.” She joked.

“ _M’sieur Maire_? That is _Jean_?” Yvette asked as the lady ghoul turned away.

“The one and only. We all agreed to it; he’d been up here for a while--by himself at first--but word gets around where’s safe for people like us.” Daisy explained. She could hear the Vaulter rustling around. “Mr. Mayor sorta…pulled us all together and kept us pulled-together, you know what I mean?”

Yvette made a quiet noise that meant nothing, but the lady ghoul apparently took as a positive.

“So we have food, we have water, traders can come up this way. Not a lot of them do, unless they’re going to the Slog--that’s another place like this. It’s a tarberry farm to boot; but as long as raiders or some other gang don’t start shit along the route, we can go for ourselves.” Daisy heard the bed creak, and turned around. “Huh, so you’re a size 8 in the foot? That’s good, a lot of salvage seems to be that size.”

Yvette belted the waist of the dress a little tighter, and smoothed the skirt. “Thank you--for bringing to me these things.”

Daisy nodded. “So…John’s got this crazy idea you’re a girl he used to know, back before the bombs fell.” she narrowed her eyes. “What’s the truth?”

“If he is who he says he is, this is truth.” Yvette said simply.

“You’re looking pretty good for over 200 years old, hon.” Daisy replied flatly.

“They froze us.” Yvette picked up the Vault suit. “The doctors, they said it was decompression chambers, because we would be going very deep down. Instead…instead, we were frozen.” she held the suit out to Daisy. “I am sorry it is damp in places…I am not sure if it is even any use--I think the material is polyester…fake? Yes? But if it can be useful…”

“ _They iced you? For real?_ ” Daisy’s mouth fell open. “You’re kidding! Who else is down there?” She regretted asking as the girl’s lower lip quivered.

“I am the only one alive…everyone else is dead.” Yvette took a shaky breath. “The computers say heart attacks for…for most of them. Not my husband, though. His cause of death is ‘unknown’. But I know. They shot him. They shot him as they ripped our son from his arms…I watched it, and could do nothing but watch from inside hell.” More tears rolled down her cheeks.

Daisy put a hand to her mouth. She couldn’t imagine going to sleep in the world before and waking up to the world now, never mind seeing what the poor girl had seen. “I’m sorry, hon…”

“Perhaps you did see them? The one who shot my husband, he was bald and he had a scar on his eye.” Yvette said with an eager, hoarse voice.

She hated having to shake her head. “No hon; nobody like that came through here. Somebody would’ve seen…that trail that you came down, the way John brought you? We’ve got a turret on it, and the Neighborhood Watch keeps an eye on it.” At last, Daisy reached out and took the Vault suit. “You sure you don’t want it?”

Yvette shook her head sharply, disappointed. “ _Non_ …you and _Jean_ have made it very clear it is not the best thing to wear proudly, and…if I never see those numbers again, I will be happy for the rest of my life.”

“Can’t argue with that.” Daisy replied, folding it haphazardly. “Believe it or not, the material’s pretty useful…maybe not for wearing, but for polishing and making leather stretch--I mean saving you some scrap usage, you know?”

Yvette didn’t know how to answer that. “Things are very different now?”

“Hon, you don’t know the half of it.” Daisy said with a snort. “Trust me, I’ve been watching everything fall to shit the past couple hundred years. Different doesn’t _begin_ to describe it…but don’t worry, you’ll catch on.” she added hastily; the truth was sour enough without embellishment. “Come on. I’m sure John’s waiting to give you the tour of things.”

“Your name is?”

Daisy chuckled. “Look at me, forgetting my manners. I’m Daisy; I handle most of the trading around here. If I don’t have it, you don’ t need it.” she winked.

Yvette struggled to find a smile; she wasn’t sure the quavering tremble of her mouth quite did it, but she tried. “Yvette. And I am very grateful for your help, _Daisy_.”

“Don’t mention it, hon. Things aren’t anything like they used to be, but…they don’t have to be worse.” Daisy said.

When the ladies stepped outside, they were almost immediately assaulted by a very battered Mr. Handy unit. He dipped in the air, remaining appendages spinning wildly; the machine was, for want of a better word, overjoyed. “Mum! Mum, is it you, is it _really_ you?”

Yvette blinked. “Codsworth?” she asked slowly.

Daisy slipped away; the unit was--as its make suggested--handy to have around, but the personality chip was something else. Besides, she had to get back before John figured out how to get into the _good_ smokes.

“ _It_ _is_ _you, Mum!_ I’m so relieved!” the bot chirped. “ _Now_ , where is Master Martin and young Shaun? You’re all _very_ late for dinner!” he declared.

She was stunned; ‘Built for the Atomic Age’ indeed…if General Atomic were still around, Yvette would most definitely have filled out a satisfied customer card. “Codsworth…” she hesitated. “I cannot believe you are still here!”

“Pride of General Atomic, Mum! Unstoppable, even in the face of nuclear annihilation! Now…where are the Master and young Shaun?” he repeated.

“How long have you been here?” Yvette asked; she didn’t want to answer that question. Not so very soon after having answered it at least twice before.

“Oh? Um…a little over 200 years? Well, more like 210, give or take…the old chronometer’s a little dinged, but still reliable, Mum! Now, sir? And young Shaun?” he said with a hopeful tone.

“Oh give it a rest Tin-can, you’re badgering!” John barked, jogging towards the floating unit. He’d thought he’d managed to get it distracted, to give the missus a little more time before having to deal with a ton of questions. It was a little screwy, and had been since the bombs fell.

“ _Jean_ …he has a name.” Yvette said immediately.

“ _Thank_ you, Mum! I can’t say I enjoy the ‘tin-can’ moniker but I do appreciate the company of all those Mr. John has brought back to Sanctuary!” he said cheerily.

“Why don’t you go help Slug deal with that side of brahmin, huh?” John snapped, trying to redirect the unit.

“Wait--” Yvette reached out, grabbing one of the bot’s appendages. “You have been here the entire time?”

Codsworth’s attachments whirled. “Of course, Mum! _Someone_ had to watch the house with the three of you gone, and keep it in shape-in shape-in-shape--” he dipped. “Apologies, Mum--the dings.”

“Focus, _Codsworth_ , please? I need you to think--did a man come through here with Shaun in his arms? He is a bald man, with a scar on his eye--he was with someone wearing hospital safety gear-- _Codsworth, did you see these people?”_ Yvette asked desperately.

“Sir isn’t _bald_ , Mum! A bit close-cropped but I suppose that’s the military man in him--” Codsworth started, before Yvette interrupted him with the awful news.

“ _Martin_ is dead, _Codsworth_ \--someone broke into the vault, they shot him, they took Shaun…I need you to think, to tell me if you saw them, and if you did, where did they go towards!”

Codsworth hit the ground with a heavy thunk, thrusters digging little divots in the dirt. “Sir? Dead? Sir dead. Sir? Dead?”

John sighed. “C’mon Tin-can, up and at’em.” he squatted down and wrapped his arms around the bot, just under the appendages. He muscled past Yvette to set the bot on the overturned pail near the counter in what used to be the kitchen of the house; it could take the blast of heat once the unit’s thrusters kicked back on, unlike the fabric couches.

Yvette followed at a distance. She regretted her initial distrust of the handy unit…for whatever it was, or had been programmed to be, it had for the past…200 years, apparently…stayed behind for them. “ _Codsworth_? _Codsworth_ , stay with me. Please?” she pleaded quietly. She watched the optical unit’s shutter move. It was like the first day they’d turned him on; they’d had to stand stock still for ages in front of the optical unit to get Codsworth to register their faces.

“Sir is dead, Mum?” Codsworth asked brokenly.

“I am sorry to say yes.” she said quietly, stepping from the rush of the thrusters.

John lit a cigarette; his home had been host to a number of weird scenes, but nothing quite like a grieving robot and a freshly-thawed missus trying to make sense of things.

“And Shaun? Young Shaun, missing?”

Yvette nodded, more tears welling up. How she had any left to cry, she didn’t know. The bot was quiet for a long moment. Then it loosed a wail fit for a person.

“It’s not _fair!_ ” Codsworth cried. “Two hundred years, two _hundred-hundred-hundred_ years I’ve been waiting for you to come home! Do you have _any_ idea how hard it is to get nuclear fallout out of linoleum? And how do you polish rust?!” he wailed. “I was so alone for _so_ long waiting, Mum! I waited, and I waited, and even with Mr. John and the others here, I waited for you all! You and Master Martin and young Shaun--they can’t be gone, they can’t-they-can’t-they can’t--”

Yvette took another step back, watching the unit bob and dip, appendages spinning wildly. She clapped her hands sharply. “ _Codsworth_! I need you to focus, I need you here with me, ok? I am here, and I need you to be here too!”

Codsworth played the ‘sniff’ recording a couple of times. “I’m sorry, Mum. Forgive my lack of composure.” he said apologetically. “I am glad _you_ are ok, Mum.”

Yvette smiled a little. “I am so very impressed that you are here, _Codsworth_. Dings and all.” she said warmly.

“Pride of General Atomic, Mum.” he replied immediately. “Now…what was it you were asking?”

“Did you see a bald man, with a scar on his eye? He is the one who shot _Martin_. He stole Shaun. If you saw him, we together can go after him, and rescue Shaun.” Yvette said slowly.

“I’m afraid there’s nothing in my memory banks like that, Mum. I only have one recorded unexplained disturbance from the Vault area, but it is approximately 63 years prior to this moment.” he said.

“That is impossible!” Yvette said immediately. “What is this disturbance, you have recorded?”

“Mr. John may be able to explain it better than I, I need to access and review the data.” Codsworth said apologetically.

Yvette turned sharply; she still couldn’t make out most of his features--what remained at least--but she could see that he jumped and she had to wonder what look had sprung to her face.

John hadn’t felt so stared down since he accidentally woke up a Yao-Gui near the water treatment plant. “You’re asking me to remember something sixty-three years ago? This morning I forgot pants for like half an hour.” he joked, then deflated immediately as the sharp look on the missus’ face flashed dangerously angry. “Sorry…”

Before Yvette could express the sudden jump in anger, Codsworth interrupted.

“Mum? I may be able to play back the data against the wall…it won’t be the best quality but it’s currently the best I can do.” he offered.

“Please do, _Codsworth_.” she said immediately.

“Right, Mum!”

It took a few minutes to find a patch of wall smooth enough and bright enough to make Codsworth’s projection decently visible. Yvette sat as close as she could without blocking the light; John wondered if her eyesight had always been that bad or if it was just a side-effect of whatever she’d crawled out of. He stood behind her to watch the footage too. There was audio too, but it was tinny and weak. Just as well, since it was mostly a nauseating first-person hovering view of Codsworth’s back and forth before Sanctuary was anything.

“Ah, there you are, Mr. John!” Codsworth said.

“...I did not know you were looking.” John said, uncomfortable. Granted, the footage was pretty iffy and it could be any vaguely person-shaped thing puttering around the picket fence…but it could also be him. “Hope I didn’t do anything embarassing--” he stopped short. Near the edge of the footage was a bright flash. “Wait--wait rewind or whatever!”

“What? What is it?” Yvette demanded. Her eyes were watering again--not for grief this time but for strain. She rubbed them furiously.

“That flash--look, I can’t tell you _when_ it was but…look, I’d wandered back here, decided to set up camp. I heard a lot of noise, and then there was this _huge_ flash of light--I didn’t see people, I only heard some yelling.” He said quickly. “Then it was quiet, so I went up the hill cuz I thought maybe…I dunno, I thought maybe the Vault was open and that was what it was about.”

Yvette turned around so fast, the stool she was sitting on tipped. She flailed, and found herself caught and crushed against the ghoul’s surprisingly firm chest. He was also _very_ warm. She wondered why for half a second before refocusing. “What yelling, _Jean_? What did you hear?” she demanded.

John helped her settle back on the stool proper before answering. “It was too far away to really make out…somebody was crying, somebody was yelling. Then the light--there.” he pointed at the projection replaying on the wall.

Yvette turned around sharp again. “When was this, _Codsworth_? Can you say?”

“I’m afraid, Mum, it’s as I said…according to my databank, this is from approximately March 3rd, 2227. Factoring in an acceptable difference of five years in either direction because of…well…the dings…I’m afraid if this is related to young Shaun…” he trailed off. “I’m _so_ sorry, Mum.”

Yvette was silent.

John cleared his throat, uncomfortable. “C’mon Tin-can, let’s give the Missus a minute, yeah?”

“He…he has a name, _Jean_.” Yvette managed to get out, though her voice was as rough and low as a ghoul’s. “As you do.”

John rubbed the back of his neck, uncomfortable. “Alright, alright…no need to make a federal case out of it.” he mumbled.

“I’m _so_ sorry, Mum…” Codworth repeated before making a wobbling, dipping exit.

“I’ll uh…why don’t you take a few?” John said awkwardly. “I’ll uh…look in on you later.” he said before making a hasty retreat. It was an asshole move--it _felt_ like an asshole move--but what the hell could he do? If it had been some sixty years or so (and he _really_ couldn’t say for sure, but it had definitely been more than one or two), then about all chance of finding the kid was past long gone. What the hell do you say to somebody in that case? So he slunk out of his own house in shame, leaving the missus alone with the blank wall and her thoughts.


	3. Storm of Grief and Questionable Decisions

For the first time in a good long while, John put the kibosh on flopping at his house. It was a weird, uncomfortable feeling--he hadn’t done it since the Mass Sobering when a handful of residents got into some weird religion and wanted to get clean (they’d gone off afterwards, and while he hoped they were doing well, John was glad they hadn’t decided to hang around to try and preach at everybody else)--but Missus Next-Door ( _Yvette, damn it)_ was in a bad way and it was the best thing he could think to do for her. The rumor mill was in full spin by the time John went to the spits for a few cuts for dinner. He shrugged off most of what he could, and what he couldn’t, he responded to with a flat ‘you can ask her yourself when she’s not bawling her eyes out over gettin’ widowed’; that was enough to shut most conversation down. He didn’t care if it started up after he left; he wouldn’t be there to hear it.

John carried the cuts back to his place, along with a couple of cans of water, to try and make up for however much bawling the missus had done since he’d left. When he opened the door and saw her still sitting on the stool, staring at the wall, he was unnerved. “Hey uh…Yvette? You home?” She at least turned towards his voice, with an expression so miserable and broken that it nailed him deeper than the cut. John shoved the plate and cans onto the shelving by the door and moved swiftly and silently towards her, arms out.

Yvette threw herself into the embrace, gripping tight and desperate. Like before, he felt warmer than what she remembered was normal, but it didn’t matter. Maybe she was still chilled from the Vault, maybe it was the grief, maybe it didn’t matter one whit as long as she didn’t have to sit in grief alone with just Codsworth whirring in and out and trying in vain to be helpful*.

Without thinking, John turned his face to kiss her brow and forehead, whatever he could reach, as his arms wrapped around her shivering body and he braced to catch her. _God_ ; he’d held some great gals even after the bombs, but John could not remember a one that was as soft, who fitted against him so well. Maybe it was grief, maybe it was overblown excitement…whatever it was, it was _such_ a good high. He kissed the nearest bit of her again, because she was _there_.

In the back of her mind, a small voice protested the embrace: it wasn’t healthy or smart to grab the first person she’d seen and cling like they were a life-preserver. The grief had to be dealt with, not sublimated or ignored with risky behavior. But that was all academics, and academics had nothing to do with the actual, visceral, _miserable_ sorrow. Yvette opened her mouth to ask him for more, but a sudden burst of noise from the claustrophobic, clunky, portable startled them both. “What?” her throat protested trying to make noise after so long.

John loosened his grip, just a little bit. “Your Pip--the Geiger. Yeah, yeah I think we’re getting a storm.” he saw her frown as the air in the room got that special kind of still and heavy. “A Rad-storm; they’re ugly but quick. Dump a ton of radiation on everything though, so folks like you do better to stay inside.” He took one of her hand in both of his; her fingers were _so_ cold! “C’mon--ironically, the bathroom leaks the least around here.”

Yvette again let him lead her by the hand. “These happen very much?” she asked timidly.

John opened the door to the shower and stepped back, gesturing for her to go in. It would be the best covered and most layers between her smooth, scared little face and the approaching storm. “I guess? Never bothered tracking it mysle; sometimes it’s just rain and sometimes it’s rain and more.” he shrugged. “It’s ok. Promise, the roof here is the most solid--I mean it’s pretty solid all over by now, but sometimes the living room leaks.”

“Will you stay, _Jean_? Please?”

John cocked his head, curious. “Can’t get enough of me already, huh?” he teased.

Yvette dipped her head, embarassed. “Do not laugh…but I do not like strong storms, and…and I have not been to a Rad storm, but I expect I would not like it either.” Then she looked up at him. It wasn’t a fair move, she knew--before the bombs fell, she’d made it a point to learn how to eye a man like the Hollywood starlets did, to get them to cooperate--but a bad storm on top of grief and shock? She would do absolutely anything to avoid having to navigate it alone*.

Any jokes died before they even made it to his throat, killed by sympathy and another rush of desire. “Alright--alright sweetheart, sure, I’ll stay.” John rasped. “Lemme just make sure your tin can--”

“He has a name, _Jean_. Like you.” Yvette admonished. It was a silly thing to focus, she knew that…but it was easy. And, with so very little unfamiliar left to her, she defend what _was_ still hers readily.

“Alright, alright.” John held his hands up in surrender. Maybe when the new of everything wore off, and he didn’t feel so bad or so lusty for her, he’d put up more of an argument. But for the time being…he’d be a little more agreeable than usual. “Lemme make sure he’s some place dryish, and then I’m right back to you. I _promise_.”

Yvette nodded.

John slid away before his arms magicked their way back around her waist. It was a very inviting curve. He made his way to the front door, and saw the sky was already green. “Hey! Codsworth!”

The bot sailed across the street, bunches of spiny magenta flowers in his grip. “ _Yes_ Mr. Mayor!”

John stopped back to let the boy in. “Picking posies now, Codsworth?” he raised a brow.

“Dianthus, Mr. John! For Mum; nothing like a bouquet to raise a woman’s spirits, you know!” he declared.

He didn’t know what the hell ‘dianthus’ meant; most growing things looked generally the same, and the only real difference that mattered was edible versus edible-but-just-once. “Well…find some place to stash’em, and then how about you take a power nap? Rad-storm coming in, you know how rough those can be.”

“No-can-do, Mr. John!” Codsworth declared. “ _Not_ that I would broadcast this, but Mum gets _most_ anxious when it thunders; it affects her most grievously.” he said in an affected whisper.

“Yeah, yeah she said--I’ll sit with her, man. She asked, and I already said I would.” John replied.

The flowers rustled as Codsworth’s appendages twisted. “But Mr. John--”

John reached out, grabbing one of the cans of water he’d abandoned earlier, cracking it open. “Just pop those uh…whatevers in here; keep’em fresh while you nap. Me and the missus’ll be under the best part of the roof, and you have my word that she won’t be by herself for a second while it’s storming.” he said reassuringly, holding the can out.

“Your word, sir?” Codsworth repeated, dropping the plants into the cup. “Your gentleman’s word?”

“Yeah. Cross my heart and everything” John replied as the first crack of thunder rattled them both. The air was thick with the smell of rads and dust; if they were lucky, it was high enough overhead that when the lightening started cracking, it wouldn’t try to light any of their grow spaces on fire.

“I…think I will, sir.” Codsworth said slowly, taking the can from the ghoul. “I’ll just set these on the table first--Mum likes her cuttings on the dining table.”

John nodded. “Rest easy, man.” he threw a casual salute to the bot and beat feet back to the bathroom.

***

“Hey, it’s ok, sweetheart. It’ll be over soon.” John repeated when she jumped. He didn’t exactly _mind_ being cuddled up on the bathroom floor with a gal, but the flinching had him feeling even sorrier for her.

“I am sorry, I just…I hate loud storms _so very much_.” Yvette murmured, clinging to the ghoul. She was glad he didn’t protest, even though her grip was sure to be leaving bruises.

John rubbed her back, and tried not to look down. If he looked down, he’d start trying to kiss her again--there was just something irresistible about her eyes and her lips when she was up against him that tightly. “Any reason?”

“ _Non_ …it has always been this way for me, since I was a little girl.” she said with a light shrug, before gasping and hiding her face in his neck.

He couldn’t help but chuckle. “Don’t get me wrong, I am _definitely_ not complaining.” John snickered. “Always did have a little crush on you.” he added playfully; if all it did was distract her, then it was worth admitting a little truth.

Yvette sat quietly for a few moments after that. “Are…are you really _Jean_ McDonough?” she asked quietly, pulling back a little.

“Yeah..yeah I am.” John said gruffly. “I know I don’t look the same, but it’s me.”

“Do you not use your last name? Daisy, she says you are _Jean_ , but I hear others say ‘ _M’sieur Maire_ ’. This is typical?”

John made a face. “McDonough’s not a great name, sweetheart. Got some distant relatives in Diamond City--that’s the ballpark. You know they turned the ballpark into a settlement? All walled-up and full of snobs--

“ _Jean_?” Yvette worked a hand free and touched his cheek lightly. “You are distracted, maybe.”

He sighed. “The mayor’s a McDonough. Might be through me, or through Charlie--my brother, ya know? A few years back, he got elected by promising to get rid of ghouls. Pretended it was nothing personal, all about public safety...the ghouls who’d been living there were just living their damn lives, not hurting anybody,” he said savagely, “they got run out by their neighbors, by the security team. People they’d been living with for years, and they just _turned_ on us without a word of protest!” John pulled away from her until he was sitting up by himself. He clenched his fists, trying to get a grip back on his temper.

“So now, it is not your name.” Yvette said slowly. She reached out and touched his wrist lightly.

John didn’t pull away. “Yeah…yeah that’s about the long and short of it. Sorry.” he said softly, forcing his hands to relax. “I’m good, beautiful, I am.”

“You are…” Yvette’s fingers slid from his wrist to his hand.

John swallowed, turning his face to look at her even as his hand folded around hers again. The room was dim, the pair of candles not doing much against the green of the storm or the darkness; they mostly just put a soft glow on her cheek and a little gleam in her eye. He felt himself leaning in, saw her eyes half close and her lips part…

The storm faded to a dull, easy-to-ignore roar as John pulled her against him and took her mouth. He was _so_ warm, and firm, and _God_ could he kiss! It was hard, and a little rough, but he had a sense of rhythm and when to break so she could snatch a breath. When he started using his tongue, it was slow and exploratory instead of jabbing; it made her moan.

That little moan egged John on. In a flash he got the first few buttons on her dress open so he could move to her neck, to try and pull more moans out of her. She gasped and her head fell back, offering him more of that soft tender skin to play with. John growled, leaning into her until he had her on her back, pillowed on his arm and leaving one hand free to start pulling her skirt up her thighs to reach for even more soft parts.

Yvette pulled at him, urging him on. He was warm, and alive, and kissed so passionately that most of the inner protest died out under the rush of lust and desperate need to _feel_ and not think. She shivered as his fingers brushed her inner thighs, then jumped as they moved higher and prodded a little too roughly.

“Sorry--” John couldn’t help the growl.

“Softer, _Jean_ \--it has been a little while.” she whispered back.

He kissed her again, taking his hand out from under her skirt and pulling her legs closed to put off the temptation. “Sorry sweetheart, jumped the gun.” John said, changing tactics. He undid more buttons as he continued tormenting her lips and neck alternately, ready to slip his hand inside the top and do a better job at working her up.

Yvette’s chuckle ended in another soft moan under his attentions. She managed to shrug a shoulder free and hooked a thumb around the strap of the slip, pulling it down for him.

John startled at the feeling of bandages instead of smooth skin. “You’re hurt--” he pulled back.

She shook her head. “ _Non_ , just leaking.” The blank look on his face made her chuckle. “How do you think we feed babies without Doctor Moo formula, _Jean_?”

The ‘click’ of things making sense and his understanding catching up was damn near audible. “ _Oh_ …” That was a new one. “Uh…I mean what I’d normally do, is that…I mean is that gonna be weird? Should I not?”

“Honestly? It would…it would be very helpful.” Yvette replied. “My breasts are very heavy, and sore. Very full.” she explained.

John ran a hand over his mouth. He wasn’t _repulsed_ , per se, but this was definitel ya new one for him. “Ok…you just keep making those noises, sweetheart, I’ll figure it out.”

Yvette snorted, sitting up and shrugging the other shoulder of the dress off. She pulled the second slip strap down, then carefully undid the cloth binding; she folded it back on itself to save it, and eased the extra padding off with a wince. It was damp, but before she could ask if the mood was ruined, John’s warm hand was under her breast.

He cupped it gently, weighing it in his palm and lightly brushing the nipple with his thumb. “ _Primo_ …” John murmured before leaning in to kiss her again.

Any nervousness John had about the situation disappeared entirely at the first deep groan he pulled out of her; what came out tasted like the freshest, ripest melon and the way she squirmed as he sucked? He could get used to that in a hurry! John’s hand went back under the skirt, letting her squirming tell him when she was ready. He teased his fingertips along her inner thighs, brushing her lips before starting to tease her sincerely.

Yvette gasped when the first finger slipped in, whimpering as John slowly explored where he could reach. He was being so tender and gentle, it was a little maddening and a lot wonderful all at once. She whimpered and pressed her hips into his touch. “More… _please, more_ …”

He didn’t need to be asked twice. John added a second finger and went to work. He dug at places that made her squirm, scissoring his fingers to spread her wider, all while peppering her neck and breasts with kisses and gentle bites. Listening to her pant and keen, John had the briefest idea that he should stop, that it was inappropriate for more than one reason. But then she bore down on his fingers, her foot kicked up, and she grabbed his wrist, and he didn’t have a damn left to give. John kissed her roughly.

When the kiss broke, Yvette licked her lips. “ _Jean_ …more.” she still had a grip on his wrist, keeping his clever fingers at a distance.

John searched her face, breath catching in his throat. The shy little nod she gave made him grin wide. “Alright sweetheart, you don’t gotta ask twice.” he growled, heart racing as he picked her up and raced across the hall to the bedroom. He kicked the door closed and set her on the bed.

Yvette reached for him, catching on to his eagerness. She dragged him closer to kiss and pulled at his clothes, desperate to be warm. “Yes, yes--” she whispered.

John didn’t think about the rads, the storm, or how wrong it was to go after a gal in her situation. He was too intoxicated by her softness and past ready to go. When he slid inside, she wrapped her legs around his waist and that made him feel even crazier. Tonight was gonna be the night he _finally_ broke the bed with a gal!

John sat on the edge of the bed, smoking slow and listening to the bed creak under every little movement. It wasn’t _quite_ broken yet, but the two of them had definitely put it under some strain. He couldn’t help feeling a little bitter about having to pull out and finishing off with his fist; but it had been a close call. “Some folks burn easier…kind of a hazard of going to bed with guys like me.” he explained.

Yvette was on her side, watching his back. “It is necessary?” she asked, reaching out to touch is back lightly. It didn’t look too bad--scarred, like the rest of him, sure--but her nails hadn’t torn him up too badly.

“Yeah.” He half-turned, shifting to get an eye on her. She was beautiful, head in her hand, hair a mess, moonlight streaming in and kissing every curve. “You want?” He offered the cigarette.

She shook her head. “Not while I leak…it is silly, but I quit and promised myself to not begin again until it stopped. Different times, but…” she shrugged.

John nodded. “I get it. I still keep a comb on me, for all the good it’ll do.” he snorted. She was still touching him lightly. “You keep petting me, sweetheart, I’ll get riled up again.” he warned, only half-joking.

“I wouldn’t complain if you did.” Yvette replied, a little flat. Half her mind was on scolding herself and the other half was thrilling at the prospect of another go. While the scarring affected _every inch_ of his body, it hadn’t hurt him downstairs…and he didn’t treat her like a piece of concrete to be jack-hammered to pieces. “Not at all.”

John jabbed the cigarette into the ashtray on the box he used for a nightstand. “You serious?”

She nodded.

“Say no more.” He replied, getting his knees on the bed and reaching for her.

They spent practically a whole week in John’s bed. And honestly, he would’ve been happy to spend at least two more just the same…but the rest of Sanctuary was starting to rumble, and more than a couple of them made good points: the missus was going to have to face the Commonwealth eventually, and fooling around with a smooth-skinned girl that hard was bound to turn awkward one way or the other. So reluctantly ( _incredibly reluctantly_ ), John put an end to the fooling around. He wasn’t sure if he was glad or disappointed that she seemed to take it pretty well--at least, she didn’t try to shoot him, stab him, or break his stuff.

Yvette was disappointed, but sometimes affairs had to end and she _did_ have to stop putting off meeting the new world. Her heart ached fiercely for her lost family; the unfairness of it, the fact that she was nearly a full lifetime too late to get revenge…but it _was_ better to know that than try to run a fool’s errand across the hostile Commonwealth all by herself. She decided that, at least for the time being, she would take advice from those around her; try to make friends, learn to survive…and worry about lingering feelings well after all that.

**Author's Note:**

> Can I tell you how weird it is to write Hancock without using 'Hancock' for his name? It's freaking hard! This all started with a random pre-war AU that kind of fizzled out, but I still wanted to have Hancock and my f!Sole meet pre-war at least once? It bloomed from there...also it was interesting to work out how differently her grief process and adaptation would've gone if she'd gotten contact with people sooner, and gotten involved in a community BEFORE starting on a long roadtrip/quest scenario.


End file.
